parting the clouds
by lilypads
Summary: he points his finger & she bares her teeth; they are in love, or so they're told. —sasukesakura


**notes1**: this has not been edited, in fact, i've barely read through it properly. to be honest—i just puked it all out in one day. so yeah. it's pretty uh, "emotional bullshit". i wish there was a section on fanfic for 'emosh bullshat' but alas, i must settle for angst. anyway, this is the LONGEST one-shot i've ever written. sorry.  
(8 FRIKIN PAGES ON WORD!?) enjoy though. ignore errors. blahblah.

**edit**: btw, i apologize in advance for all the swearing. if i'm perfectly honest, i'm angry at the male race right about now, so i'm using sasuke as my scapegoat ;). but really—if the swearing offends you, then i am very sorry.

**disclaimer**: disclaimed pls.

parting the clouds

_You came from nowhere, my own miracle cure__  
__- —_ Sea Wolf, Miracle Cure

* * *

i.

It's hard to define where it all began.

Somewhere lost between the bed sheets and his claws, she remembers feeling alive.

Due, she knows, to a large amount of liquor and perhaps (because hell if she remembers) a line or two, she can see why she may fall in love for the night. It's probably down solely to the complete lack of _anything _lately, that she took it all out on him. Him who is unidentified currently. Him who shifts and shoves next to her.

Him who smells delicious.

But she can smell sex and alcohol and a heavy sense of regret in the air — so she does not look at his face. Not yet.

Sakura just stares up at the ceiling and counts the tiny dots.

It isn't for another ten minutes does Mr Tug'n'Pull wake up. He stretches and his back clicks into place, then he yawns and makes some garbled noise. When he sits up she sees the damage her nails has caused. It's a satisfaction that isn't really satisfying to look at. Kind of like seeing a piece of art that you'd love to just spit on.

But yet, it is still art and therefore, she is acutely proud of her work.

The unidentifiable flavour of the month rolls his shoulders and she watches the planes of his back as they flex. It's odd not knowing who this specimen is, odd to think that he has been inside her three times but she cannot remember his name. Odd to think that she fell in love with him for all of twelve hours. The taste is bitter on her tongue.

Then he inclines his head towards her and—

"Mornin'," he says with a crooked smirk.

—he's kind of like a beautiful nightmare.

ii.

Sakura sits at her island counter, her fingers encircling a warm cup of tea.

The man—_Sasuke_, she remembers—rummages around the kitchen like a lost kitten, saying something about 'looking for his phone'. But Sakura doesn't say a thing to guide him, she just watches him as he stresses. He furrows dark eyebrows and resists the urge to curse and Sakura adores it.

"Shit," he finally does swear, turning to face her in a frenzy, "look, sweetheart, could you just bell my phone for me? I'll give you my number..." and she can see how reluctant he is to do it. She knows he thinks she'll turn into some crazy lunatic, but he does it anyway.

"Sure," Sakura slides off the chair and leaves her cup of tea. She pads towards her bedroom and picks up her phone and then returns to the Lost Boy in her kitchen. "What is it?"

Sasuke mumbles his number and keeps his onyx eyes on anything but her. Once she's tapped in his number (which is now saved into her phone—can you blame her? He was a terrific fuck... if the afterglow was anything to go on, anyway) she presses dial and they stand in her kitchen and wait. The silence is so tense even Sakura is beginning to feel uncomfortable.

But then his ring tone blasts out around the room and the air is clear.

Sasuke pulls a face and whirls round. "What the hell's my phone doing in the sink?" he picks it up and ends the call, stuffing it hastily in his jeans pocket. When he looks at her, he's lifted an eyebrow.

"You took it out last night," Sakura offers helpfully, "I recall it going off at one point—when we got in, I think—and you took it out and threw it half way across the room," she smirks at his expression, as if he can't even remember, "must of been getting in the way."

"Yeah," he agrees stiffly. "Must have been."

He shuffles almost like he's deliberating whether to move or not—then. He just shrugs and turns again, but this time he's staring at his reflection in her window. His hand reaches up and he begins to sort out his hair, which has been a mess atop of his pretty little head. Sakura just picks up her cup and watches him some more. He may not be the most eloquent with words but she can certainly appreciate a pretty face.

When Sasuke turns back to her, he's got no expression. "I... I should go," he explains. "It was nice er—nice meeting you last night. See you, Saka."

She doesn't even correct him.

Just watches him as he leaves.

iii.

It takes him a week to cave.

Sakura thought it may have been longer, considering how tense he was on the morning of their escapade. But low and behold, he comes to her just as she came for him.

It's a simple offering, a kind of thing she'd probably deny if she had a shred of self-respect.

But Sakura is past the point of having morals (_why have 'em when nobody else does? Everyone's a fucking hypocrite anyway_) so she shrugs and she doesn't think twice about it. Despite his lack of vocabulary in person however, through technology, he gets his point across with enough emphasis.

It's a: _we should do that again _kind of message, but with less words.

So Sakura hasn't shown any of her friends yet because she knows they'll disprove.

And for once, she wants to fuck the Big Bad Wolf.

iv.

He suggests a bar and she dresses just how he wanted.

Sasuke thinks it's always better to have fewer clothes; therefore it takes less time to get to the good bit. Without layers there are no restrictions and no risk of getting turned off in the process.

After all, who ever had a boner after spending ten minutes trying to get his woman's skinny jeans off?

Sakura walks in all perfume and smiles, her legs on display and her neckline plummeting. But she has enough class not to bend down.

"What do you want?" Sasuke asks in her ear, allowing his lips to hover too close to the shell of her ear.

"Whatever you're having," she says with an undertone of challenge.

Sasuke pulls back and raises his eyebrows. "You sure, sweetheart?"

"It's _Sakura,_" she corrects a little tartly—she's never been one for pet names, but the last time he said it, she was far too busy ogling him to respond. "And yes, I am sure. Just get me what you're having."

He isn't affected by her attitude. In fact, it goes straight to his pants. "Sakura," he tests the word on his tongue. Foreign. But pleasant, "all right, Sakura. I'll get you what I'm having."

They do shot after shot after shot and Sakura begins to wonder why she ever asked for the same as him.

v.

They sleep together often now.

Its become a sort of 'go-to' routine type thing.

Sasuke finds his way to her apartment a lot and is usually the one to initiate the sex, but sometimes when he's not drunk, they'll fall in love again. He'll go slowly and he'll take his time—he'll learn her curves and practice her lips. Maybe he'll even take the time to divide between her thighs. But often—he just fucks her senseless.

Somewhere between the first night and four weeks later, she begins to think.

The morals and the accidents and the regrets and the sex catches up to her now. Like a blow to the stomach, she clenches real tight and closes her eyes. The tears don't come though, as she imagined.

But he's here tonight and he's sober and he's exhausted.

And Sasuke begins to let her in.

"I can't see you next week," he says, his eyes hard and his tone non-negotiable.

"That's fine," Sakura says easily. But he's not finished.

"My brother..." he trails off and his back is taunt and his jaw is clenched—she wants to reach out, but she doesn't, "my brother is getting married at the weekend. I... I haven't seen him—my family, in a long time. Not since—" but he stops. He closes his eyes. He breathes. He's Sasuke who fucks her again, not Sasuke who loves her.

"I'm tired," Sasuke stands up and avoids her eye.

They don't sleep touching that night.

They don't sleep at all.

vi.

Sakura grows restless.

He's been back from his brother's wedding for two weeks and he hasn't said a word.

Despite their arrangement—their agreement of not feeling anything, she can't help but worryworryworry about him. Because all she ever really wanted was for someone to care for, someone who she can cradle and help. Sasuke is her best patient yet.

So she attempts to find out where he lives.

He knows her apartment so well—her life so well. She knows nothing about him.

In her search, she finally comes across a good source of information. Sakura went back to the bar they first met on a Saturday night and this is where she recognizes one of Sasuke's friends whom he was with that night. He's tall with blonde hair. A cheeky grin. Fun, playful, obnoxious. Everything Sasuke is not.

He notices her straight off the bat.

"Hey!" The blonde strides right up to her. "You're that chick Sasuke went home with like, a month ago?"

Sakura just nods.

"You're not with him any more then?" and she picks up on the curious almost obvious tone. Sasuke doesn't stick to his women much then.

"Yeah," Sakura says a little impatiently, "actually, I'm looking for him. I figured I may find one of his friends here..."

The blonde nods and he understands. "I haven't spoken to him since he left for... well. You probably know," he stops and scratches his chin, shifting his weight as if wondering whether to divulge information. He doesn't, "anyway—he lives in an apartment up east in case you didn't know. I'm Naruto, by the way."

Naruto clearly knows that Sasuke rarely tells his women where he lives.

Was she important enough to get his apartment?

Sakura decides it's not worth thinking about right now. "Thanks, Naruto," she smiles, all friendly-like, "I'm Sakura."

And then she sets off to find the Lost Boy.

By chance, she bumps into somewone around his block.

It's almost as if fate is on her side—except, fate fucking hates her because it rains and rains the moment she stepped back outside.

The old man tells her of Sasuke's apartment number because she pretended to be his long lost cousin. He almost didn't believe her until she mentioned a wedding... nothing too specific, but enough to get her some details. Naruto probably didn't think she would get this far. Not many women have the time, the effort, the _affection _to get this far.

"Right at the top," the old man says, "can't miss it as it's the penthouse suite."

"Thank you so much," she replies, feigning her gratitude. "My silly long lost cousin not telling me his door number..." she jokes, but he's already walking away. Sakura gives him a rude gesture as he turns his back and feels considerably better. Everyone around "upper east" is a complete prat then.

Well. That would explain Sasuke's attitude perfectly.

As she enters the apartment building she gets the sense that she shouldn't be here. The floors are made of marble and the walls are paved in rich colours—gold and red, decorated so lavishly, she almost feels as feeble as that horrid plant by the elevator. Even the snotty woman at the front desk pays her no mind. Probably, she assumes she's a maid.

Typical.

But Sakura continues.

Continues until she reaches the penthouse.

She knocks three times. Three times to signal that she is no maid.

It takes Sasuke almost fifteen minutes to answer his door, and when he does, he looks fucking terrible.

Messy hair, glazed eyes and wearing nothing but his underwear.

"Sakura?" he asks, weary and bleary-eyed.

Sakura stares at him blandly, wondering what the heck could cause this. "You fucking idiot," she finally says.

He wipes his face and opens the door ajar to allow her in. She strides past him and takes in his apartment—wonderfully expensive, of course. But it almost looks as if it hasn't been lived in. The books are so straight they may never of been removed from the shelf; the tables dust free and the sofa stiff. His apartment is a ghost of himself.

"What're you doing here?" he shuts the door and comes right up to her. No kiss.

"No," she holds up her hand and sighs, "what are _you _doing in here?"

He looks away. "I live here," he answers as if she's brain dead. "Though I'm sure you already gathered that as you've managed to stalk me."

And thus, she explodes. "I did not _stalk _you!" her hands fly up and her eyes are wide—she wants to kick him so hard he feels in ten years later, "I'm worried sick about you! You—_we _haven't spoken in over two weeks! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sasuke rolls his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me," he tells her strongly. "I just haven't wanted to speak to you, okay?"

That stings.

Sakura recoils a little, but her anger still rages on. "Oh, stop playing to martyr you stupid fuck," and she hates how she sounds just like her mother. All swear and no intelligence, but _shit_—he deserves it. "If you haven't even spoken to your friends—and don't you _dare _accuse me of stalking again—then there's clearly something wrong."

He hasn't got a thing to say, so he just sags and falls back onto his sofa. Sasuke closes his eyes and tries to regain some semblance of calm, but nothing comes and he doesn't want it to really. "Just," he begins tiredly, "just go away."

She stares at him.

Stares at him some more.

Then: "Fine," Sakura forces. "Fine. You can wallow in whatever self-pity you want, but just remember this, Sasuke: I tried."

And then she leaves him.

vii.

It's a blur of the first night but with someone else.

There's no falling in love here—just straight fucking.

He leaves and they do not exchange numbers.

He's not Sasuke and she tries not to think about that too much.

viii.

Months go by without much change.

Sakura urges herself not to care and for a little while, she doesn't. But once the anger wears out and the hurt settles in, she cares irrevocably. It takes time for her to really settle herself but after much wine and much chick-flicks, she feels somewhat normal. Not as if she had just fallen for a stranger.

Not as if she had just fallen for the world's most fucked up man.

But then—he lingers.

His fingertips have branded her skin and his lips have parted an ocean within her.

It hurts and hurts and hurts, but she fights.

Fights until her knuckles turn blue and all she remembers is his stupid chicken-hair.

(_and Ino helps too—they laugh and laugh about his stupid hair and his stupid words and his stupid self_)

ix.

Sasuke stays holed up in his office most days and his apartment most nights.

Naruto gets him out sometimes—sets him up with his "super-hot friends" but nothing ever feels right anymore. These women don't watch him with a cup of tea and make jokes about him, nor do they cause him any great pleasure. Never has he woken up to find his phone in a sink. It's always on the bedside table.

And that's how he knows—he just fucking _knows _that Sakura was special.

But ta-da, he screwed up the best thing about him.

Isn't that just wonderful, Sasuke? That your brother can find a woman and settle down and smile and be happy, whilst you waste away in alcohol and sex. Isn't that just fucking-fantastic for you?

He's got it all though, so why is he so miserable?

Sasuke's got the money; got the looks; got the charm and he's got the moves. But he has never experienced love, and maybe, maybe, for those moments with Sakura beneath the sheets—maybe he was in love.

However, love falls upon those who cannot understand it.

x.

By the beginnings of winter, Sakura has dug a grave and shoved Sasuke in it (but not literally).

His memory is as dead as she could possibly make it.

Her life—though not perfect—was getting back on track. She had not gotten abysmally drunk in a month, she had not slept with a stranger in longer and she had not dabbled in drugs since... well. Since _that _night. And that was good. That was terrific. But as usual, fate hated her.

A few nights before Christmas and she's in a bar with a few mates and he's there.

Sakura notices he looks a lot healthier. His hair is impeccable, his eyes are dark and mysterious and he actually looks presentable again. Her last memory of him seems to wash out inside of her as she stares on at this new Sasuke. He's with Naruto, but there's another male—one that looks suspiciously like Sasuke.

But with longer hair and a delicate face.

He catches her eye and that's that.

They stand outside in the blistering cold and everything feels so different, yet so natural.

"You look better," she comments.

"I feel better," he says.

They lapse into silence

"Sakura—"

"Sasuke—"

And then they look at each other and something terribly wonderful happens—they laugh. Together.

Sasuke finishes first and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he says with as much conviction as she's ever heard. "I don't know what I was doing back then, I really don't. But the way I treated you was fucking awful and for that, I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you're okay now." she doesn't look at him but he watches her as if nothing else exists.

"You were right though, you know," he nudges her in the arm but she doesn't respond. Sasuke sighs, "about me 'playing the martyr'. I was just... Oh, I don't know..."

"Being a prat and expecting other people to shovel your shit?" Sakura offers kindly.

He chuckles dryly. "Yeah," he confirms. "Pretty much."

Another silence.

"What changed?" Sakura asks because she's itching to know. Who or what turned Sasuke around? It wasn't her—so who? Who saved him?

Sasuke leans his arm on the railing and exhales, his breath puffs out before them. "My brother," he admits with little difficultly. "After I saw him at the wedding, it just really screwed me up. Not that I wasn't pretty much screwed up already—but seeing him so _happy. _It just got to me," although he hasn't answered her question yet, she finds herself not caring. He's opening up. Finally. He's the Sasuke who loves her (_pleasepleaseplease_) not Sasuke who fucks her. "Anyway — I got myself into a rut as you saw and I was sure that was the end. But... my brother, he came round one evening and we talked."

She allows him time to recollect himself, and when he does, he's staring straight at her. "He told me I would lose everything. He reminded me that I lost you and he said I'd lose it all if I didn't buck up," he explains, "so I listened to him. For like, the first time in years, I listened and yeah—here I am."

"You..." Sakura trails off awkwardly. Has he lost her? She looks at him then, for the first time. And she thinks, "you haven't lost me."


End file.
